Crown of Fire

Tessaril smiled at her, "Yes, the doors do not always open into the same rooms you have found behind them before," Her smile changed, touched by sympathy. "You've already found that out, I see."

She made a peculiar wriggling gesture with her fingers, and a cabinet nearby swung open, A bottle and two glass flagons floated out of it, heading for her hands.

"There's a much greater benefit to this place," the Lord of Eveningstar said as she poured a glass of frosty-cold green wine and handed it to Shandril. "I can feel the presence of any intruder and where they're lurking."

"Me, for instance?"

Tessaril gri

Shandril sipped the wine and found it warm and very good, She drank deeply and said, "Thanks, Lord Tessaril. l accept."

Tessaril chuckled again, "Call me 'Tess,' please-and think about one other thing," Her face grew serious again, "A wielder of spellfire may find fewer hiding places in all vast Faerun than she expected. This is one of them. Think of it when you're looking for a home; neither Azoun or I will try to command you if you choose to stay here, We consider it one of Cormyr's treasures-but not part of Cormyr."

Shandril looked at her in disbelief. "Here?"

"I'm not expecting you to prefer it to freely roaming Faerun," Tessaril replied, "I'm suggesting it as the best refuge I know."

"Umm," Shandril said, resting her chin on her glass and staring at the opposite wall, The painting on it obligingly flickered and changed shape.

Tessaril held out the bottle to refill Shandril's glass. "Narm and Mirt both seem all right," she said, "The priests of Lathander are in awe of you, by the way, over what you did to Narm. Storm's gone back to Shadowdale, we've not seen the Old Mage again, and we've not seen or heard anything more from the Zhentarim. I've spoken with Vangerdahast-without revealing that any of you were still here-and he's of the opinion that you fought something called a lich lord, more powerful at sorcery than most archmages living today, He's mightily impressed with you, too."

Shandril smiled wearily. "So's everyone else I meet but then they usually try to kill me." She was suddenly very tired, and felt something moving through her fingers. She looked down-in time to see the glass fall from her hand.

Shandril watched it shatter

"I hope you'll go on trusting me, Shan," Tessaril said sadly as she got up and put her arms around Shandril. "Now you need to sleep-or you'll soon kill yourself, You've been hurling spellfire without rest or food or water. Each time you call on it, it's eating you inside to get its energy, Rest now-, you're safe here."

The last thing Shandril felt was a gentle kiss on her cheek, She fell asleep wearing a curious expression, To Tessaril, it looked as if she was trying to frown, but smiling in relief.

"Well?" Fzoul slowly turned from the papers he'd been studying and raised cold eyes to fit Sarhthor with a challenging gaze.

The sorcerer looked back at him expressionlessly. "He failed, Through our spell-link, I felt him die."

Fzoul studied the wizard's stony face. "You're no more surprised than I am."

Sarhthor shrugged, "He was an overconfident, arrogant fool, One more we're better off without."

"You don't approve of cruelty or pride?" Fzoul asked flatly.

The sorcerer seemed almost to smile, "I see no reason to laud villainy just because the Brotherhood uses might and pays no heed to the moral judgments of others. If I have a flaw, it should be something I work against to make me better in the service of the Brotherhood-not something I take pride in and show to all as a weakness of the Brotherhood, ready to be taken advantage of,"

Fzoul nodded. "Wisely said." He paused, toying with the tiny skull carved from Iliph Thraun's thighbone. The high priest leaned forward, "Tell me, Sarhthor-what are your own thoughts on this matter of spellfire?"

Sarhthor shrugged. "A formidable weapon, something of almost irresistible power-but not something to tear apart the Brotherhood over."

Fzoul leaned back. "Oh? Tell me, then, what-in your view-are the more important matters facing the Brotherhood now."

Sarhthor nodded, He went to the row of chairs along one side of the room and picked one up, Though it was large and heavy, the slightly built wizard lifted it as if h were made of paper.

Fzoul's eyes narrowed, Sarhthor met the high priest's gaze mildly, carried the chair to the table, and without invitation, sat down opposite Fzoul.

"First," the wizard said calmly, "we must foil Thay's growing influence in Calaunt and Westgate."

"First?" Fzoul's voice was silky.

Sarhthor looked at him expressionlessly and said, "You told me to state my view, If you'd prefer to fence, Fzoul, I can oblige,"

Fzoul held his gaze for a long, chilly time, then silently waved him to continue.

Sarhthor inclined his head and went on, "Then there's the matter of Maalthiir of Hillsfar. If he were dead, we could take advantage of instability there to place a large number of agents-and slay those Mulmaster has established there."

The wizard shrugged, "I'd also like to see more of the soft word and hidden agreement in the way we work in days ahead-and fewer marching armies and indiscriminate spell-hurling. We're making enemies at far too fast a rate, and making too many rulers uncomfortable, I don't want to see armies from several realms besieging our walls in a year or two."

Fzoul nodded slowly. "This is more sense than I've heard from the mouth of a wizard of the Brotherhood in several winters."

Sarhthor nodded, the ghost of a smile on his face, "They're all too eager to topple towers and twist the world overnight, aren't they?"

Fzoul lifted his lip in a cruel parody of a smile. "Exactly. I'm hoping we can see eye to eye on more things, Sarhthor, than your predecessor and I ever did. It would be a pleasure to work together to make the Brotherhood great for once rather than spending our best energies in fighting each other, wizards against priests, and cabal against cabal."

Sarhthor smiled thinly, "I'm sure it's afforded the Great Lord Bane-and foes such as Elminster-much entertainment over the years."

Fzoul's smile vanished at those words, but he said only, "Say on."

Sarhthor shrugged, "I'd like to build Zhentil Keep into something greater than a fortress of fear, Fzoul-an empire ruling all Dragon Reach and the Moonsea. Whatever our individual dreams, there'll be more room for ambitious Brothers who wear the robes of Bane or who walk as wizards to find their own desires fulfilled if we grow larger and more powerful. I know Great Lord Bane wants to see such an empire loyal to him, because I've heard your underpriests chanting the Words of Bane often enough. The sorcerers under me provide you with wilder magic than other priesthoods can match-we need each other."

Fzoul's face was grim, but there was a light in his eyes as he asked, "What, then, do you think we should do?"

Sarhthor slid not quite smile, "Well," he said…

Narm came into the hall of mirrors in the Hidden House, went to where Shandril sat, and bent over her, "What're you eating? It smells wonderful."

With an impish smile. Shandril looked up at him over her shoulder, shifted what she was chewing to one cheek, and replied, "Fried snake."

Narm choked.